Last Gift
by Swellison
Summary: Sam holes up at Bobby's after Dean's deal. Tag for No Rest for the Wicked.


Originally posted for the Supernaturalville "Get Well Angela" challenge, write a story with a family theme.

Last Gift

By Swellison

Bobby Singer strode into his living room, heading for the solid oak desk angled in front of one corner of the room. He slid into the comfortable chair behind his desk, moving a couple of demonology books out of the way as he hunted for his electric bill. He found it, extracted his checkbook from the middle desk drawer and scribbled out a check. Briefly, he wondered if he should join the 21st century and make life easier on himself by using online bill payments. No, he had a cell phone; that was as technologically advanced as he cared to be. He was an old-style hunter; the tools of his trade were ancient, leather-bound texts written in dead languages--at least the ones that didn't spit bullets or have cutting edges.

But even hunters had to pay their utility bills. Well, the stationary, home-based ones did, anyway. That described Bobby and his current houseguest to a 'T'.

Bobby had driven Sam Winchester back from New Harmony five days ago, after Dean had lost his fight with the hellhounds. Bobby kept an eye on Sam, cajoled him into eating something at most meals and let him know he was available to talk or listen, at any time. Bobby was familiar with the Winchester grieving process. He knew Sam spent time with the Impala, sitting in the passenger seat, listening to Dean's cassettes. Yesterday, Sam had spent hours washing and meticulously waxing Dean's baby. Bobby hoped that had finally allowed Sam to get a decent night's sleep, but he doubted it. Sam hadn't slept much since Dean's deal had come due, at midnight on the last day of April.

Rubbing a hand across his face, Bobby admitted that he hadn't been sleeping well, either, between worrying about Sam and grieving over Dean. He sighed. This wasn't getting the bills paid. Bobby tore off the check and stuffed it in the envelope, then started ransacking his desktop for a stamp. Not finding one, he searched the middle desk drawer with no luck, then pulled out the deeper, left-hand top drawer and froze. No stamps, but he did find a wrapped rectangular package. He picked it up and it rattled and drooped slightly in his hand. Underneath was an envelope with 'Sammy' written squarely in its center.

"Aw, Hell," Bobby mumbled, and glanced guiltily at his desktop calendar: May 5, 2008—three days after Sam's birthday, which had passed unremarked by either of them. In all fairness, Bobby knew that Sam would only have seen this birthday as two days after Dean had died and gone to Hell, but he still felt like he'd let Sam down, somehow. He reached for the envelope with his free hand, fingering it thoughtfully. Then he rose from the desk, utility bill forgotten. He had another delivery to make.

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Sam Winchester stared at the last pages of Dean's hunter's journal, the black leather volume propped up against his knees as he huddled on his bed. He had found this journal and its two predecessors buried in Dean's duffel, and pored over them. The oldest journal had been started the day after Sam left for Stanford, and it had been almost military in its precise descriptions of the hunts Dean and Dad had undertaken together. Gradually, the tone had loosened and the journal included snippets about the would-be victims that Dean had saved from various supernaturals, other people he'd met in his travels, and occasional random thoughts about everything from pool hustling tips to Dean's dream motel room. It wasn't anywhere near as revealing as a diary, but it did provide Sam with a much needed counterpoint to the nightmares of Dean that plagued him when he did manage to fall asleep.

Sam could only watch helplessly as Dean had been mauled and bled lifeless by the invisible hellhounds, and he already knew way too much about Hell. His nightmares started with the midnight attack on Dean and only got worse after that. He cradled Dean's body in his arms, and flinched as the dead eyes blinked open, turning instantly opaque. "This is what you've made me, Sammy," the demon cackled in Dean's voice. Or worse, the eyes were yellow and Dean said harshly, "I waited a long time for you, Sammy, but you managed to escape me. So I'll have to settle for your brother, instead." Then he saw Dean, or he was Dean, trapped in Hell, surrounded by demons – Azazel, Meg, her brother, Gordon Walker, and lots of rank-and-file black eyed demons, all taking pleasure in tormenting Dean/him. And then Sam would wake up, alone in the darkness. No, he wasn't getting much sleep, lately.

Suddenly, Sam heard footsteps on the stairs. He swiveled his head towards the bedroom's closed door, and tensed. What time was it? Bobby hadn't been able to coax Sam downstairs for breakfast earlier this morning, was he planning an early lunch to compensate?

"Sam," Bobby rapped on the closed door, then spoke through it. "I need to talk to you."

For an instant, Sam thought about ignoring Bobby, but he knew that Bobby wouldn't be deterred by a mere closed door. "C'mon in," he said, wearily pushing himself to his feet.

Sam watched as Bobby entered the room. He saw Bobby's eyes circle the guest room that had been the Winchester brothers' accommodations every time they'd visited in the last twenty-odd years, then rest on him. Sam wondered if Bobby was going to say anything about the fact that he was wearing Dean's purple and black plaid flannel shirt.

"Do you know today's date?" Bobby finally asked.

"May…fifth." Surely Bobby wasn't a devotee of Cinco de Mayo?

"Yeah," Bobby stepped closer. "I'm sorry I forgot your birthday, Sam." He raised his hand, holding out a colorfully wrapped package to Sam. "Someone else didn't. I just found this in my desk drawer."

Sam numbly accepted the present, staring at the bright Batman wrapping paper. Dean.

"There's a letter, too." Bobby gently placed a sealed envelope in Sam's other hand, and then turned around and walked back to the door. "Lunch is at noon, sharp," Bobby said in a no-nonsense tone, and then he left the room.

Sam stood rooted to the floor, his gaze ping ponging between the rectangular package that fit easily in his right palm and the envelope marked 'Sammy' in his left hand. He finally shook himself and walked over to Dean's bed, which was a few feet closer to the door. He sat down on it, carefully placing the envelope on the bedspread next to him. Sam turned his attention to the present, carefully removing the Batman wrapping paper. He gawked at the revealed present: a package of M&M's.

Not just any M&M's. This was a bright red package of Limited Edition Wildly Cherry M&M's, with a picture of the red and maroon colored treats inside underneath the huge brown M&M logo. Mystified, Sam placed the candy package on the bed and reached for the letter. He swallowed as he slit the envelope open, took out the letter, and started reading it.

_Sammy, _

_These are special Winchester M&M's. Note the old-style W that's stamped on each one. _

Sam took a minute to glance at the package, and agreed that an inverted M did look like a W.

_You can tell that they're Winchester M&M's by the color alone: red and maroon, the colors of fresh blood and dried, not-so-fresh blood._

_Don't worry, I taste-tested another bag. While they're not as good as my peanut M&M's, you should like them. They taste like chocolate-covered cherries, the favorite holiday treat of old ladies everywhere. You loved those as a kid. I remember you were no more than five, and you got into a box of chocolate covered cherries. You ate half the box, and you had chocolate, cherries and that sticky filling goo all over your hair, your face, your hands and your clothes! Luckily, Dad was out hunting and I had you bathed and cleaned up long before he came home. _

_You're on your own determining the aerodynamic properties of Winchester M&M's. _

_I hope this brought a smile to your face, bro-- or even outright laughter. Because it's okay to laugh again, Sammy. I don't expect you to crack jokes about fire and brimstone, but… You brought so much light and laughter into my world; I hate to think that I took it all away from yours when I left. _

_That's right, Sammy. I left. This is not your fault. I knew exactly what I was doing when I made that deal and I don't regret it. You are not guilty. That's a legal term, so I know you understand it; you have to believe it, too._

_I'm sorry I'm not there to celebrate your birthday, Sammy. And I'm sorry we're not having the biggest, drunkest chick-flick moment in Winchester history. _

Sam stared at those last words, as their meaning sank in. "You read my diary, jerk!" Right after he'd learned of Dean's deal, Sam had written in his diary that he would find a way to save Dean and they'd celebrate with the biggest, drunkest chick-flick moment in Winchester history. Sadly, that was not to be.

_Take good care of my baby._

_I don't have to ask you to remember me, and I hope that I never forget you. _

_Your awesome big brother,_

_Dean_

_PS If you're worried about your girlish figure, share the Winchester M&M's with Bobby – he's family, too._

_PPS Love you, bitch._

Sam reread the letter, and then carefully re-folded it. He stretched out on Dean's bed, closed his eyes and thought of Dean. He saw them sparring, sharing drinks at a bar, driving down the open road in the Impala, eating fast food in a motel room, and laughing over a cribbage game. Gradually, he drifted into a peaceful sleep. Sam's hand was loosely curled around the letter resting on his chest, because wherever else Dean was, he was always in his brother's heart.

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A/N: This is an oldie (but a goodie, I hope) from my story backlog. I've been so drabble-ized that I've forgotten about my plan to post my other stories until I'm current. I just read Cheryl W's Bobby missing scene story (Unexpected Guests) and thought I'd add to the Bobby stories with this.


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